To plie or not to plie
by TADAHmon
Summary: When Rhonda is spending another boring day, her mom convinces her to take ballet courses. She becomes very, very nervous when she discovers two certain classmates are also in the class...
1. Default Chapter

To plie or not to plie, that is the question, prologue.  
  
Rhonda was sitting, drearily brushing her hair out one day, when her mom walked in and stared at her like she was an alien.   
  
"Rhonda, dear, what are you doing?"  
  
"I'm just so bored, Mom. There's nothing to do. It's Sunday, most of my favorite stores are closed, the pool is being rennovated. Oh..."  
  
"Hmmm. I think we should get you into one of those classes we mentioned at the start of summer," Mrs. Lloyd mused.  
  
"Oh, no, Mama, please," Rhonda whined, following her mom out of the living room and into the entertainment room. "I don't want to learn how to sew or do crafts or anything.... That's what you have maids for."  
  
"What about cooking?"  
  
"Repeat: that's what you have maids for." Rhonda's hands swept along, sending the brush stroking through the air.  
  
"Why don't you try something physical, like tennis..."  
  
"I already know how to play tennis..."  
  
"Bowling."  
  
"I know how to do that, too..." she answered, wrinkling her nose in petty disdain.  
  
"Hmm, what about ballet?"   
  
"Bal-let?" she squeaked, shuddering at the thought of her in a tutu.  
  
"You don't know how to do it?"  
  
"Well, no, but why should I? The only reason to learn that is if you plan on becoming a professional and I'm not!"  
  
"Oh, it could help you learn grace and posture and many other things. Why, after two and a half years of it, I became almost bilengal, I could speak both French and English fluently almost. Merci?"  
  
"I didn't know that," Rhonda commented, looking amazed.  
  
"It was one of the highlights of my childhood, until we couldn't afford the classes anymore."  
  
"Well, I guess since I really have nothing else to do, I could do the lessons," she murmured, resting her brush in the palm of her right hand.  
  
"Ah, Rhonda, you will enjoy it so much," Mrs. Lloyd promised as she ran out of the room to tell Mr. Lloyd about their little princess' decision. 


	2. Ch 2

Title: Revenge for a couple of non-suckas like us  
Writer: Amy Williams  
Characters: Jericho, Bicshoff, Stephanie McMahon, Big show  
Secondary characters: 3 minute warning, Jeff Hardy and Kidman  
Chapters: 10  
  
In the world of wrestling, there are two elements who live opposite of each other. One is called Raw and the other is Smackdown. The two people running these shows are very, very opposite. Stephanie McMahon and Eric Bischoff have hated each other for months. So what does it mean when these two have suddenly disappeared? Rumors running rapid, all with no good idea of what exactly has happened to these two. They got eloped, they got killed, they finally got sick of Vince and WWE and left together to become normal people. As time went by, the rumors became crazier and crazier, but no one saw the true answer, despite the distant looks in two other wrestlers' eyes.   
  
One difference, however. One wears a smirk, acting cocky to all at Raw. The other acts like he rules all, walking slowly through the halls of Smackdown, glaring down any person who dares offend him.  
  
Who would've thought these two very different wrestlers could possible be in alliegence against two of the most powerful business people? But maybe there are other factors in this... for one of them at least. Revenge, yes, but for what? Why? 


	3. Ch 3

Plie ch 2  
  
After two days of the class had passed, Rhonda was trying to ignore the pain in her ankles and calves. It was pretty dang intense at those classes and she was feeling a little regretful that she had ever agreed to this.   
  
That school day wouldn't help either. After sitting at her desk for a few hours, she felt quite stiff. When it was lunch, she skipped it and snuck into the gym, doing warm-up practices she had learned. While she was rubbing her hands over her painful legs, a light came on in the classroom next to the gym so, standing up, she hobbled over to the door and snuck out quickly just before a teacher or principal could notice her.  
  
After school was finally over, she needed to go to the ballet class.  
  
"Hello, Rhonda, my love," Curly said smoothly, staring up at her through his wide rimmed glasses.  
  
She blanched before turning. "What do you want?"  
  
"A life with you?" he suggested, smiling coyly.  
  
"Eww, no," she said.  
  
"Then can I at least walk with you to the ballet school?"  
  
Rhonda groaned. "No, little boy. I go alone."  
  
"Oh, come on, Rhonda. I'm not contagious."  
  
"Are you sure about that?" she asked, looking totally sickened.  
  
"I had myself examined yesterday," he said.  
  
She made a face but then, looking around, realized everyone was watching them. "Ah! Get out of here!" she gasped, horrified.  
  
"Well, babe?" he asked, wrapping his arm around hers.  
  
"AH!" She groaned. "Fine! But if you touch me, talk to me, or even LOOK at me, I'll make sure you don't even have to worry about 'breaking a leg'."  
  
"I like 'em feisty," he said, winking to the other kids.  
  
"Oh, my God!" Rhonda yelled.  
  
Finally they started walking, Curly a few inches away from Rhonda.  
  
"Here's the deal," she growled. "If you're going to walk with me to school, you have to do something for me."  
  
"What, my dear?"  
  
"DON'T call me that!" she cried. "Just carry my dance bag, would you?" She threw a medium sized douche bag at him.  
  
"This is a dance bag?" he questioned, looking it over.  
  
"It's not very good but the markets are a mess, you know."  
  
"Oh. Yeah, I know," he said lamely.  
--------  
  
Just fifteen minutes later, they were starting warm up and Rhonda was relieved, since the stiffness in her legs and muscles hadn't gone away since school. As the kids sat out in lines, Curly was in the line next to Rhonda's, just two kids ahead. When she was rubbing her legs, he started to stand up and do standing exercises.  
  
"Ok, Children," Ms. Smith, a teacher's helper, told them. "Time to start the class. Stand by the barre. Position one. Now, plie."  
  
As the kids lined up by the two barres that ran from one wall to the other on both sides of the school, Ms. Smith went by and checked the way they were holding their arms, legs and that they were in the proper position. Standing by the special room for certain students, she listened to Rhonda doing her own exercises.   
  
Suddenly the kids turned as a thud was heard.  
  
Ms. Smith's eyes widened as she realized what had happened-- Curly's foot had twisted underneathe him and now he was on the floor, clutching it. "Curly!" she gasped, running to him. "Are you ok?"  
  
"My ankle hurts, Ms. Smith. Oh, my dancing career is over. Everything is going dark," he said dramatically.  
  
"Oh, come on, man!" a eleven year old girl yelled. "It's a simple little ankle injury!"  
  
"How do you know that!?" he returned.  
  
Ms. Smith sighed.   
  
Just then, Mrs. Martinez ran in from the other room and looked at the group of people. "What happened!?"  
  
"I think Mr. Gammelthorpe sprained his ankle, Madam," the same eleven year old spoke up.  
  
"Pierre, take him to the boy's locker room and help him get ready to leave. We'll call his parents and they can take him to the hospital," Mrs. Martinez urged.   
  
The tall and thin twelve year old nodded and stood by Curly, helping him stand on his good ankle.  
  
"Now," Mrs. Martinez said, "the rest of you, back to work." She clapped her hands briskly. 


End file.
